


Slowly Falling

by katiebrowneyes



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I promise, Modern Era, Pining, anyway, enjonine - Freeform, have fun reading, yes this is a one shot but there's build up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22410199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebrowneyes/pseuds/katiebrowneyes
Summary: In which Enjolras falls for Eponine and isn't sure what to do about it.
Relationships: Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier, Enjonine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	Slowly Falling

They would meet at the café almost every night of the week, Enjolras informing them of any new political turmoil or progress. They would discuss their options and plan their protests in the basement room, the walls lined with old brick and the small windows in desperate need of a good cleaning. During months of slow political events they would still meet, Enjolras in the corner drafting more speeches and everyone else enjoying their coffee (and later in the night, their alcohol). 

Eponine was a constant fixture at the café, serving the Amis their iced coffees and flavored lattes for almost half a year when she began to join in on the political discussion. She had never been much for politics, but she had grown up on the streets and knew what tactics would work and what ones would fail. As Enjolras always said, it would be the vox populi that would start a revolution and keep it going. The trick was that they needed to start it up themselves, a fact that Enjolras found thoroughly frustrating. He wanted to go all in right away with fiery speeches and organized protests, but if any movement was to be successful it would have to start off slowly and on the people’s own terms. Eponine knew this better than anyone, and after that first night of offering her advice she was officially inducted into their little society. 

Despite his pile of books and cold demeanor, Enjolras had developed a small soft spot for the girl. He would sometimes notice a few purple bruises across the top of Eponine’s arm, or a typically thick layer of makeup over one eye, and would put the pieces together. While he was adamantly against abuse in any form, he found that this particular case made him furious. Eponine was good and kind, despite being unbearably cheeky and crass at times. He had always appreciated her political advice, even though more often than naught he was hard pressed to take it. He was frustrated at himself for not knowing what to say to her when he saw the bruises, or how to help her. 

One night he doubled back to the café at around two in the morning after the remainder of the Amis had left, forgetting one of his law books. He had found Eponine in the corner of their basement meeting place, sniffling and wiping tears from her eyes. After debating with himself for a minute or two he decided to approach her, cautious, and found that she was setting up a rudimentary bed on the floor behind the bar with several ragged blankets and a pillow. Her first reaction was to clear her eyes and explain away her actions, but Enjolras got the truth out of her with a calm voice and gentle questions. 

The bruises were from her father, and she was taking refuge at the café to escape his anger. She had put a down payment on the next semester’s classes without his permission, causing his usual anger to boil over into punches. Eponine was ashamed, Enjolras could tell, and he didn’t have the words to let her know that she needn’t be ashamed in front of him. So instead of words he used his actions. He held her rather tentatively to his chest, not sure what else to do. He knew of course that she couldn’t stay at the café so he offered her the first thing he could think of: the safe refuge of his couch. 

They walked together for a few blocks until they reached his apartment. It was modest but clean, and as soon as Enjolras unlocked the door he was at a loss as to what to say to her. He couldn’t just point her in the direction of the couch and then saunter off into his bedroom, so he opted for making an ordeal out of putting his keys on the kitchen counter and opening the refrigerator, pretending to look for something. Eponine simply sat on his couch, too silent for his liking. He managed to pull his gaze from the contents of his fridge to the back of Eponine’s head, wondering to himself what he had gotten himself into. After a moment of self-indulgent staring at her dark mess of hair Enjolras cleared his throat, in response to which she turned around and Enjolras dropped his gaze awkwardly back to the fridge. 

“Do you want anything to drink? I’m afraid I don’t have much… water, milk, orange juice…” 

His voice faded gradually as he reached the end of his options, not sure what to occupy the silence with when he would finish. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly while scanning the rest of his kitchen, when he picked up on yet another option. He muttered “whiskey…?” under his breath, more to himself than to Eponine, because anything that would calm his nerves at the moment sounded fantastic.

“Whiskey?” 

He nearly snapped his neck when he turned to Eponine, who was now standing a few feet in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest and a small smirk on her face. 

“Um, yes… I have some. Whiskey, that is.” 

Her smirk turned into a full smile and the tension in her crossed arms lessened slightly. Neither of them said anything for a few moments until Enjolras incredulously asked, 

“At two in the morning?” 

She laughed and he forced a small chuckle as he turned to grab the bottle from its place on the shelf. 

Why not?

He found two mismatched glasses and handed her one, shakily pouring alcohol into them both until they each had enough for a decent shot. He placed the bottle on the counter, again making an ordeal out of putting the top back on, and turned to Eponine. She was smiling slightly at him, and Enjolras found a small bit of comfort that he was at least able to make her smile. They clinked their glasses together and drank, although Enjolras was rustier than he would admit. The whiskey wasn’t even his, but Combeferre's, who was keeping it a safe distance from the apartment that he and Grantiare shared. 

Eponine made quick work of her drink while Enjolras was desperately trying to get his eyes to stop watering. He put his glass down on the counter and leaned one hand against it while the other rested on his hip as Eponine placed her glass on the counter as well. 

After another moment of silence their eyes met again, and with her eyebrows raised in a question, asked, 

“Another?”

“Another.”

They each only had one more drink, Enjolras happy to be feeling less anxious. Eponine turned to go back to the couch, lying down and curling up on her side. He walked with her, grabbing a blanket from a chair and handing it to her. Her eyes met his and he wished she would hurry up and say something, because her face was entirely too serious and her eyes entirely too sad, even after the drink. 

“Thank you.” 

Enjolras nodded in response and left her, making his way to his own bed. 

>>>>>>

About a week later it happened again. Everyone was leaving the café, and Enjolras purposely lingered behind with the premise of finishing one last paragraph in one of his law books. Jehan was the last to leave, and at the sound of the door closing Enjolras looked up. 

Eponine was looking at him too, knowing that he had spotted more bruises on her wrist. He found his fingertips ghosting purple flesh when she had handed him his coffee earlier, a familiar look in her eyes. He gathered his books with her still looking at him. When he was about to leave he turned to her and muttered a soft “Come on.” 

She followed without a word and slept on his couch again that night. 

This become more frequent, much to Enjolras’ dismay. It was a bittersweet thing to have Eponine at his apartment, because he knew the only reason she was there was to protect herself. After a few months and about a dozen nights of Eponine on his couch he insisted she call the police. 

In short, this did not go over well. 

Of course, Enjolras knew the reaction his suggestion would cause. There were too many dangers, too many holes in his plan, and he knew it. Eponine was right and he hated it. She stormed out of his apartment despite the snow falling outside and he didn’t see her for a week, even at the café. She eventually showed up, however, at around three in the morning with a black eye and several bruised ribs. 

The walk to the emergency room was silent, as were the hours they spent in the waiting room and the twenty minutes that the doctor spent examining her. They ended up back at Enjolras’ place in the early hours of the morning, Eponine curled up in a ball on his couch yet again. He sat next to her this time, his hand holding hers, still silent. This was heavier than usual, more serious, and they both knew it.

Enjolras inched closer to her, her shoulder to his chest, resting his arm along the back of the couch. Eponine leaned against him, her head against the crook of his neck and her legs still pulled up to her chest. He looked at her but still said nothing, not wanting to scare her away. He thought that she might be waiting for him to snap, to become angry at her choices and at her father. She was waiting for his blood to boil, for his sense of inherent injustice to reach the surface. But it hadn’t, and Enjolras thought she almost looked grateful. 

She shifted a fraction of an inch to look up at him, her face about level with his neck. He looked at her in return, still surrounded in silence. He felt her small hand reach up and rest against the side of his face while she angled herself up towards his other side, pressing her lips to his jaw line. 

Her lips were warm and soft against his blonde stubble, and she had closed her eyes, her lips lingering for what seemed like an eternity as Enjolras just sat there unable to do anything. When she pulled away she rested her head against the crook of his neck again, and all Enjolras could hear in the silence was the sounds of her quiet breathing. 

She stayed until her bruises healed, and she continued to stay after they were gone. Enjolras didn’t have the courage to mention their brief contact, and he felt safer that way. After all, he had no idea what Eponine had been thinking. She had obviously been distraught and that kiss was her way of saying thank you.

She made him breakfast one morning, about two months after the emergency room situation. He ate his pancakes over the sixth draft of a speech that he was planning on making the following month. It was about income inequality and the threat that certain new laws posed to the working class. He had explained it all to Eponine before, and now was reading from his speech as she listened from across the table. Her phone buzzed with a text and she laughed while reading it. Enjolras lifted his eyes from his paper and she answered the question that he didn’t even ask, 

“Marius.” 

He didn’t know why it made him so upset, but it did. He ignored it, or he tried to, but eventually Eponine was spending less time at his place and more time at the café with Marius. He buried himself in more paperwork and in complicated law texts but still found himself to be in a constant state of agitation. Of course, with spring around the corner and therefore “protest season”, the rest of the Amis didn’t see a drastic change in Enjolras’ demeanor. It appeared that even if Eponine did notice, she didn’t care, which made his mood worse. She was much too busy with Marius, who had now become a café regular. Eponine laughed at every stupid thing Marius said and would rest her hand on his arm or shoulder when she did so, and Enjolras was sick of it. 

He decided to spend more time alone at his apartment rather than the café, which he convinced himself had everything to do with the nearing protest he was planning and nothing to do with Eponine or Marius. Combeferre would send him a text, or Courfeyrac, and he would simply reply with “working”. 

Eponine had texted him one night while he was home, still pouring over his research. He read it out of the corner of his gaze despite his better judgment. She asked if he was still going over his speech and the plan for the protest, and if he would mind any company. He scowled and went back to his paperwork. 

He went over his notes for another hour or so, drawing plans on a map of the city of possible escape routes and safe havens if the police were to get violent. His phone mocked him from its place on the table, buzzing ever so often and lighting up Eponine’s text. He glanced at it one more time on his way to his bedroom to grab another book and saw that she had sent him another message that simply read “coming over.” 

It was about ten minutes old, which would have given her plenty of time to reach his apartment. He hastily grabbed the phone and started typing out a reply, trying to rectify the situation by claiming he was at the library instead. Just as he was about to hit send he heard a knock at the door, one that was without a doubt Eponine’s. He ran his hands over his face and though his hair in frustration, seriously considering making a break for it down the fire escape, when she opened the door and didn’t waste any time in walking over to him and planting her feet firmly on the ground, her arms crossed over her chest. 

Damn. He had forgotten he gave her a key. 

Enjolras looked sheepishly at her and then turned back to his work, trying to make himself look as busy as possible in the hopes she might think she was bothering him and then leave. 

Who was he kidding? 

“What’s going on?”

Her voice was slightly rigid, and he could tell she was angry at him but trying to keep herself under control. He muttered, “Working.” 

“Well, I knew that. It seems to be all you’re doing these days. Why haven’t you texted me back? Is something wrong? Grantaire says you’re upset with me.”

At this last sentence her voice grew a bit gentler, and Enjolras was still trying to look busy, moving around papers and stacking books with an air of unease. 

“The protest is in a week, as you know. I’m simply just preparing. You know… my speech. Maps.” 

She took a step closer to him, the document covered table between them. 

“We both know that speech is perfect; you’ve written about twenty drafts and read them all to me. And you’re maps are the same from last year, you told me.” 

He closed his eyes and sighed, his hand running over his face and hair again. 

“I’m busy, Eponine.”

“Bullshit.”

They made eye contact over the table, her brown eyes resolute. He opened his mouth to try to dismiss her yet again, because he had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be pleasant. She cut him off, however. 

“Honestly, Enjolras, did I do something? You haven’t talked to me in months. Tell me why you’re upset, you’re being ridiculous.” 

He stared at her, silent. He must have looked awfully pathetic standing in front of her, because her glare softened slightly and she let out a breath. 

“Did you want to grab a beer? You need a break, it isn’t good to just be working constantly. Let’s go to the café, drinks on me.”

“Eponine…”

“What’s wrong with you? Come on, I have a free afternoon, let’s just….”

“So I suppose Marius is busy?”

He heard the words fall from his mouth before he could do anything about it. They sounded cold and bitter, and he practically cringed at himself. Eponine’s eyes met his, confused and angry at the same time. 

“What?”

“Just… forget I said anything, alright? I need to re-read the statute about public gatherings in the town square on weekdays…”

“What does Marius have to do with anything? What are you getting at?” 

He looked down at his piles of paperwork, clumsily trying to explain his outburst so she would just leave. 

“Nothing… I didn’t mean anything, I was merely referring to the fact that you seem to be seeing a lot of him lately… around the café… it doesn’t matter.” 

“What is it to you if I’m friends with Marius?”

Enjolras scoffed to himself, perhaps a little too loudly, growing more frustrated with every word she said. 

“Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You’re lying.” 

She made her way around the table and stood in front of him, much too close for his liking, and he involuntarily took a step backward. He could still feel her breath on his skin, her face only inches away from the collar of his red t-shirt. He was decently taller than her, so she had to tilt her head back to make eye contact. 

“Are you jealous?”

“Eponine…”

“Are you jealous?”

She asked him again, a bit gentler this time. He felt his Adam’s apple bob up and down and his throat go dry. Was he? Is that what he was feeling? It seemed so much more complicated than simple jealousy.

“I just… missed you. Around here. That’s all.” 

He wanted to turn away and distract himself yet again with his books, but he couldn’t seem to move. She didn’t move either, and it seemed like an eternity that they stood there, Enjolras relenting and staring at her shining brown eyes as they latched onto his blue ones. She eventually whispered, 

“Marius has a girlfriend.” 

Enjolras wasn’t sure why that was important, or why Eponine felt the need to tell him, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Because of this he didn’t say anything, waiting for her to elaborate. She didn’t say anything about Marius, however, but said instead, 

“I missed you too.” 

He continued to stare at her, unsure of what to do or say, but he felt a lightness in his chest when she spoke that he didn’t know how to explain. Eponine seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he would say. How does someone reply to that? Good? No, that would make it seem as if he was happy that she missed him. Was he happy, though? Maybe not happy exactly… relieved? 

Enjolras only now noticed that Eponine had taken another step towards him. She leaned forward tentatively and impossibly slowly until her lips were dangerously close to his, and Enjolras felt like he had turned to stone, unable to move even an inch. Her eyes closed and she lightly pressed her lips to his, lingering for a moment, while Enjolras stood there with his arms limp at his sides. 

He found himself involuntarily closing his eyes and leaned into her slightly, Eponine’s hands now resting on his chest. Both confused and overwhelmed, he opened his eyes and pulled away, his face still close to hers. It had taken him a while to grasp at what Eponine had said. Marius has a girlfriend. But what if he didn’t? Is that why she was here? Was he only kissing him because she couldn’t kiss Marius? 

Enjolras turned his head to the side, staring down at the floor in a poor attempt to ignore her. 

“Enjolras?” 

He didn’t say anything in response. He knew that this whole thing was useless anyway, that any thoughts he had about Eponine wouldn’t and shouldn’t amount to anything. Who was he kidding? Him and Eponine? 

Still close to her, still with his head turned and his gaze aimed at the floor, he said, “What does that mean, Marius has a girlfriend?”

She didn’t say anything. He continued. 

“What if he didn’t? Would you still be here?” 

He somehow found the courage to look at her, but wished he hadn’t, because he had expected her to be defensive and angry but all he saw was sadness in her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came, and to Enjolras her silence was worse than an angry retort. It meant he was right. 

Eponine stepped away from him as he ran his hands through his already messy blonde curls, frustrated and wounded. In response to her silence he muttered quietly, “I see.” 

“Enjolras, it isn’t…. It isn’t like that. I swear. I…” 

In the middle of her sentence she paused, her eyes locked onto something resting on the table. It was his phone, the screen still lit up, showing the text he almost sent her a few minutes previously. She picked up the phone and read it, Enjolras taking a step towards her in an attempt to snatch it out of her grasp, but she was too quick. 

“The library?”

She looked at him, her jaw tight and her eyes soft. He hated that. He had expected Eponine to be all harsh words with her arms across her chest, but she wasn’t, and he cursed her ridiculous eyes and the way they shined. He couldn’t say anything. 

“If you didn’t want to see me, Enjolras, you could have just said. I don’t need another person in my life playing games with me.”

“Don’t compare me to…”

“I will if it’s true! What was I to you, a case study? Was helping me charity?”

“No, Eponine! It wasn’t like that, but I’m busy, I told you…” 

She turned on her heel and walked toward the door, ready to storm out of his apartment forever. She reached to open the door, but before she walked out she turned to him.

“I’m used to nobody in my life caring about me, Enjolras. I just thought that you, of all people, would have been honest about it.” 

And with that she left, leaving Enjolras alone with his mounds of books and paperwork. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying desperately to rid his mind of the look Eponine had on her face as she left. 

>>>>>>

A week later the protest was scheduled to start. It all began normally, with everyone meeting at the police station across town and marching to the entrance of Les Invalides. It was here that Enjolras climbed up the small makeshift stage and gave his speech to the crowd. He had memorized it and rehearsed it too many times to count, and it seemed to be going well, until he caught sight of the National Guard forming a line at one end of the crowd. 

He continued as normal, they had planned for this, until the number of National Guardsmen grew and the sea of protesters took notice. Enjolras urged everyone to remain calm, but he could already here the beginnings of a confrontation. Feuilly shouted to him that someone taunted an officer too much and had been pushed to the ground and arrested. Enjolras filled with dread, because he knew what sort of chain reaction that would start, and he was right. The crowd had turned away from him and towards the conflict, shouting over his pleas for calm. He just heard the sound of rubber bullets from a gun and saw the beginnings of a cloud of tear gas when Combeferre reached the stage, pulled him down, and shouted at him to run. 

Enjolras took off with Joly, as was the plan, towards the west side of the city where they would duck into the café as a safe place. The conflict was worse than he had thought, and soon there were police officers on horseback and on foot chasing the fleeing protesters through the streets. People were shouting, crying, and tear gas filled every turn in small alleyways that they had planned on using for escape. 

Enjolras, Joly, and others were forced to retreat down a center street in order to avoid the tear gas. Police were everywhere, and Enjolras saw someone out of the corner of his eyesight get kicked in the shoulder by an officer on horseback. 

Panic was now flooding his veins, even though they had all prepared for this, or tried to. The only thing left to do was keep running. There could be no stopping; the Amis had learned in the past that unless someone was seriously injured, it would do more harm than good to stop. It would cause another crowd, more attention, and more often than naught, more casualties. 

He saw Joly next to him, still running but on his phone, presumably keeping contact with either Combeffere or Courfrayc. They had both taken paths on the opposite side of the city in an attempt to spread out the police response. 

Joly stumbled and fell, and Enjolras stopped running as quick as he could, skidding to a halt and practically falling himself. He stooped to help Joly up by his armpits, turning and seeing an oncoming wave of tear gas. He got Joly to his feet and they both took off again, making a sharp turn into a slightly less crowded street in order to avoid the tear gas. Enjolras turned behind him again just in time to see the police officer on horseback raise his nightstick. 

He almost didn’t feel it at first, but he fell hard on the pavement and was enveloped in silence and darkness. He came to only a moment after, sprawled out on the dirty ground, blood in his mouth and smoke everywhere. It seemed as if someone had started a fire, most likely to a car. He groaned when he thought of the field day the media would have with that one. 

His vision was still a bit hazy and the smoke wasn’t helping. He managed to sit up, feeling someone guide him and push his hair out of his face. He felt the breeze of people running past him, still fleeing the protest. He reached up to feel the spot on his head where he had landed, already swelling, and he felt the warm stickiness of blood run down his neck. He tried to focus his vision, and it was then that he saw who had been helping him. 

It was Eponine. 

He was immediately sent into a spiral of panic when he saw her, sitting on the ground next to him, her arms clumsily around his middle in an attempt to get him to sit up. He reached forward to cup her face in his hands and brush her dark hair back, and it was then that he realized her face was also smeared with blood. 

“Eponine! You’re hurt, you’re hurt ...we need to get you to the hospital, you…” 

She cut him off, leaning closer towards him, and Enjolras noticed she was trying to speak. 

“No! No, I’m fine… it’s yours. The blood is yours.” 

He stopped his tirade and examined her closer, trying his best to wipe away the blood that was on her face and in her hair. She was sitting near him, her legs tucked under her body. He quickly ran his eyes over her, making sure she wasn’t hurt, and felt himself audibly let out a breath. His hands were still on either side of her face. 

“Thank god, Eponine… I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” 

“I might be fine, but you’re not! Enjolras, please, we need to get to the café!” 

Her eyes were desperate, her voice shaky, and Enjolras thought he saw tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Her lips were chapped and his blood was on her face. He knew that time was everything in a situation like this, and that he might actually be seriously hurt, but he couldn’t seem to move. 

“Eponine, I’m sorry…. I’m sorry, for everything.” 

She didn’t say anything back; she simply reached up and gripped his arms above the elbows. Her lips slightly parted as she continued to stare at him. He didn’t say anything else either, just stared. She finally spoke up, her voice still uneven. 

“Marius doesn’t mean anything to me Enjolras, I promise. A while ago I thought he might, but that’s what I do, ya know? I let myself get hurt by people who are never going to care about me - who I don’t really care about either - because it’s easier. It’s easier to get hurt by something that you’re used to, something that doesn’t mean as much as something else.” 

Enjolras saw her lips tremble, saw a few tears escape her eyes. 

“I don’t care about Marius! I… I care about you, honestly, but I knew you wouldn’t…”

She stopped and sniffled then looked away from him. He felt his heart clench in his chest. 

“You’re not the only one who pushes people away, Eponine.” 

She looked back up at him, her brown eyes meeting his blue ones, and let out an almost exasperated sigh. 

“I just assumed that I was just… just someone for you to help. That I was nothing.”

Enjolras managed to shake his head and whisper, “No, Eponine, that’s not….” But he couldn’t finish his sentence, so instead he ran his thumb along her cheek. She inched forward only a little bit, but Enjolras gently moved his hands to cradle the back of her head and pulled her towards him, only a little rougher than he had intended. 

He buried his hands in her hair and pulled her as close to him as they could manage in their awkward position in the street, kissing her like he had wanted to the week before, feeling her skin hum against his own. 

He was content to stay on the asphalt, kissing her, feeling her skin burn through her clothes, but he heard shouting at the back of his mind that turned into R’s voice getting closer and closer. 

Enjolras felt hands reach underneath his armpits and pull him up into a somewhat standing position, Eponine still in his arms, her lips still clumsily pushed against his, as R finally made his way past them yelling, 

“CAN YOU NOT DO THAT IN THE STREET?!” 

>>>>>>

They had all made it to the café safely, Enjolras with the help of both Eponine and Bahorel, who had been the one to pull him up off the street into a standing position. After a short time at the hospital, where Enjolras was told he didn’t have a concussion (Eponine made the doctor check twice more) they all went back to the café for the traditional “after protest” meeting. No one was seriously injured, but due to the violent nature of that particular protest, Enjolras instructed everyone that the meeting would be postponed until the next day so they could all go home to wash themselves and tend their wounds. 

As the Amis were filing out of the café, still covered in dirt (and in some cases blood), Enjolras stood by the door to thank them all for their participation and shake their hands. Luckily, both R and Bahorel had neglected to mention his and Eponine’s situation to the rest of the group. Although Bahorel had winked at both of them multiple times during Enjolras’ short speech. At the end of the speech Enjolras had sought out Eponine’s eyes in the crowd and smiled. She nodded in understanding and slipped out the door. 

Enjolras met her at his apartment about twenty minutes later, after he had wrapped up the meeting and told the rest of the Amis goodbye until the next morning. He opened the door and threw his bag unceremoniously on the floor, too tired to care. His eyes found Eponine, leaning against the kitchen table and sipping some tea. By the time he locked the door she was in front of him, smiling. She asked, 

“Are you alright?” 

He nodded. 

“Yes. Just tired.” 

She leaned forward and kissed him, lightly, and Enjolras knew she was trying not to put any pressure on his vast collection of bruises. He reached his arms around her to let her know that it was alright, and she responded with reaching around his neck and resting her forehead on his. 

She pressed against him only slightly as he swiftly kissed her again, not lingering this time. He rested his head on her shoulder and smiled against the skin of her neck. He whispered, 

“Stay.”

They both took quick showers, only wanting to wash the blood and dirt off of their bodies as quick as possible before going to sleep. Enjolras, who had showered first, was already dressed in a pair of grey sleep pants and a red t-shirt by the time Eponine was finished with hers. A moment after he heard her turn the water off, Enjolras realized that Eponine didn’t have a change of clothes. He grabbed an old maroon t-shirt from his room and a pair of sweatpants that had been too small for him since high school. He tentatively walked to the bathroom door and knocked.

“Eponine?” 

“mmhhmm?” 

“I… I wasn’t sure what to get you for pajamas… I have these….” 

She opened the door only a sliver and reached for the clothes. Despite his best efforts, Enjolras felt his heart jump in his chest before she quickly shut the door again. 

“Maroon? Really, how many red shirts do you have?” 

He chuckled and responded, still only on the other side of the bathroom door, “Maroon is different than red, you know.” 

“Maroon is a shade of red. Don’t they teach you that in law school?”

He could hear the laughter in her voice and chuckled again, leaning against the wall across from the bathroom door. 

“They must have skipped that chapter of the text book. This year we seem to be focusing on legislation and court cases – you know, that kind of useless stuff.” 

Eponine opened the door as Enjolras ended his sentence, dressed in the clothes he had given her. She smiled and walked past him to the living room while he was still in the hallway, trying to calm his heart rate down and convince himself that the sight of Eponine in his clothes wasn’t something to be having heart palpitations over. He eventually followed her into the living room. 

She had grabbed a blanket and draped it over the couch, adjusting the cushions like she always did when she slept over. Enjolras stood there watching her, seemingly unable to move from where he was standing. 

“Eponine?” 

She stopped what she was doing and looked at him, waiting for what he was planning to say. Her damp hair stuck to the sides of her face and his t-shirt was so big on her that the hem almost reached her knees. He felt her eyes rest on the bruise he knew was forming on his right cheekbone. 

“Ya?”

He swallowed and looked down at the floor before saying anything, his mouth suddenly dry. It took all the courage he had to look up at her and look her in the eyes as he spoke. 

“Stay. With me.” 

“I am staying with you.” 

“No, I meant… that is, I…” 

Her mouth curved into a smile at his awkwardness, which didn’t help Enjolras at all. He settled for saying in a barely audible tone, “No, with me, Eponine. Not on the couch.” 

Her smile faded into something he hadn’t seen before on her face, something that made her eyes sparkle and delve deep into his. She walked over to him and stopped only a few inches away, her face tilted towards his, that look still in her eyes. Enjolras felt his head dip a little ways towards her and his lips slightly part. She stood slightly on her tiptoes to that they were almost at eye level and leaned closer to him. 

“Ok.” 

He wasn’t sure what his body was doing entirely, but he reached around her with one arm and gently pulled her against him, the other he rested in the small of her back. She felt so small, buried under all that fabric. She wrapped her arms around his neck, careful not to put any pressure on his injury. She leaned her face against his, not kissing him yet, her forehead pressed against his. Even with her on her tiptoes, Enjolras had to tilt his head downward slightly until his eyes aligned with hers. 

He felt one of her hands pull back and rest against his cheek, the one with the bruise. He kissed her, because it was starting to be too much, her body so close to his and standing so still. She kissed him back, gently at first, and then a bit firmer. They pulled way soon after, Enjolras’ hands now moved up to her waist. He kissed her again, firmer than the last time, and pulled her against him.

He felt both her hands tangled in his hair now, her lips pushed harder against his as she kissed him deeper in return. He kissed her longer this time, content to be lost in her damp hair and the feel of her skin. 

His hands were now roaming over her back and tangling in her hair while hers remained tangled in his. She pushed and pulled against his lips, her mouth opening wider for him. He felt her whole body hum as she made a noise that sounded like a low “mmhmm” into his mouth. 

But his was dangerous territory, because Enjolras’ palms began to sweat. He couldn’t even feel the pain in his head anymore, all he could feel was Eponine, pressed against him with her lips doing ridiculously wonderful things to his own. He slowly pulled away from her lips, kissing her a few more times, trying to slow her down. She seemed to take the hint, finally pulling her lips from his, allowing them both to catch their breath. She asked, breathlessly, 

“Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” 

“No, Eponine. I’m fine.” 

He brought his hands up to rest on either side of her face. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers, still getting used to the way she feels in his arms. 

“Why did you stop?”

He smiled and planted a small kiss on her cheek, letting his lips linger as he answered. 

“I just… I needed to stop, Eponine. Or else I wouldn’t have been able to.” 

“Oh, I thought… I thought you didn’t like it…”

Enjolras kissed her cheek again, this time a bit closer to her lips. 

“I liked it too much.”

She smiled and whispered against his skin, 

“You were the one who invited me into your bed, you know.” 

He felt his ears turn crimson. 

“I only meant…”

She laughed and tipped her head back so her eyes could meet his, then kissed him again.

“I know.” 

They stood there in contented silence for a moment, Enjolras still holding her in his arms, until Eponine pulled away and took his hand, leading him into his own bedroom. They both got under the covers, Enjolras shaking a bit more than normal.

Enjolras was on his side and Eponine was on her back next to him, waiting patiently for him to make the first move, her eyes beautiful and shining and much too distracting for someone who is trying to find the least awkward method to start cuddling with the girl he just invited into his bed. 

“What would… what would you like me to do, Eponine?”

He cursed himself inwardly. _What am I, fourteen years old?_ _Get a fucking grip, Enjolras._ He was really awful at this. Did he just ask her how to cuddle? He was glad it was partially dark in his room, or else Eponine would have seen his whole face flush with embarrassment. 

“It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re touching me.” 

He groaned and turned fully on his back, his hands over his face while Eponine laughed at her joke and his reaction. 

“Don’t laugh! Goddamn it, Eponine, how do you want me to react to something like that?”

“This is good.” 

She laughed again, while he laid still, his hands still over his face. When the danger subsided he turned to look at her, laughter still on her face. 

This was the worst idea he ever had. 

“I’m sorry, Enjolras! Look, just... turn…”

He turned to his side and moved closer to her, while she snuggled closer to his chest. He reached around and held her to him, her forehead pressed against his neck. She turned herself slightly so she was able to hook her ankle around one of his. He heard her sigh; he felt her breath on his neck. 

“Good?”

“Yes.” 

She inched even closer to him, as close as she could get, her lips against his neck. He traced small circles onto her skin with his thumb. She let out a content sounding “hhmm”. 

This was the best idea he ever had. 


End file.
